When Isaac Paige stumbled into class that day, messy-haired and breathless, I knew exactly where he'd been.
"Glad to have you, Mr. Paige." Our teacher, Ms. Burken (or, as we so affectionately called her, Birkenstock), glowered at him over half-moon glasses.
He seemed too dazed to string together a coherent sentence. "Yeah." Was all he said.
"Care to take your seat?" Birkenstock gestured vaguely to the back of the class. Isaac gave a disoriented nod and clomped his way to his desk in the back corner.
I glanced over my shoulder at him, catching his eye for a brief second, and he flashed a goofy, tired smile at me. I rolled my eyes. Jackass.
"Newsflash: World-renowned dickbasket Isaac Paige is banging his girlfriend on a regular basis." Mackenzie Lewis, who dressed every day like she'd just stepped out of a Picasso painting, was "the quiet girl" until she wasn't. And when she wasn't, the people next to her were usually the only ones to hear her.
I bust into a fit of laughter, covering my mouth with my hand to somewhat stifle my organically annoying cackle.
Birkenstock turned from the whiteboard and flashed us all her winning death stare. "Would you like to share that with the class, Ms. Lewis?"
Mackenzie played her class-A "innocent shy girl" card, her eyes immediately turning doe-like. She cocked her head. "I'm sorry? There... must be a misunderstanding, I didn't say anything."
I had to look down so Ms. Burken wouldn't see me grinning.
Birkenstock didn't bother fighting back. Instead, she just grunted and turned back to the whiteboard, her marker squeaking as she wrote out our homework assignment.
Mackenzie Lewis and I shared a victorious glance.
The bell rang no more than ten minutes later, and everyone moved so quickly that it was almost like they all thought the cafeteria was actually serving a decent meal.
Our high school was very rustic looking. And by 'rustic', I mean it looked like someone had hit a state prison just one time with a wrecking ball, and left it that way. The paint on the walls was all but chipping, and pretty much everything was painted grey. It was like you could see the misery.
I somehow managed to snag a spot next to Vivian Paige, Isaac's sister, who happened to hate him almost as much as I did.
"You have a stain on your shirt."
"Your brother's banging his g-wait what?" I looked down, and there was, in fact, a spot of something on my blouse right next to my belly button, and I frowned at it as I took my spot.
"What'd you say?" Vivian took a huge bite out of her perfectly disgusting 'chicken' burger.
I looked disdainfully at my tray. "I was going to let you know that your brother is finally getting himself laid."
She gave me the same look I was giving my food. "Why would you ever tell me that?"
I shrugged. "In case you hear weird noises upstairs-"
"Jesus Christ."
I gave her that I'm-about-to-make-a-really-bad-joke-and-I-know-it look. "But I'm Clarissa."
She slugged me in the arm. "I really didn't need to know about my brother's sex life."
"Well, sorry."
Vivian and I weren't really friends-mostly because we were both intensely jealous of each other-but we had this ironically civil relationship that we both almost hated. In reality, the only thing we actually had in common was the fact that we both strongly disliked Isaac.
Vivian seemed to realize something, and set down her water bottle. "How do you know my brother gets laid?"
"Please." I said. "The way he comes into class every day, with that morning-after hair and his shirt halfway tucked in, a monkey would be able to figure it out."
She made a noise of utter disdain and shuddered, then got up-without saying goodbye-and went to throw out what was left on her tray.
The bell rang and I was met at my locker by Tyler Jennings. Tyler was tall, lanky, brace-faced, and wore the dorkiest glasses I've ever seen on a high school boy. But I kept him around for his genuine attitude and his uncanny ability to make everything seem like a good thing. It came in handy.
"I think I just failed my math test."
I twisted the lock on my locker and pulled it open, shuffling some books around. "Nice to see you, too, Tyler."
"Sorry." He glanced at the floor. "On the bright side, it was just a quiz. Shouldn't matter too much."
"Hope not. Hate to ruin those perfect grades of yours." I slammed my locker door closed.
He looked somewhat offended. "Hey, don't be so bitter. You can be jealous of Vivian Paige all you want, but don't slam me because you hate math."
I frowned at him, but didn't say anything. We walked together to our next class-which we shared-and he went on about something having to do with his little sister and how she's kind of obnoxious but he loves her anyway. I wasn't really paying attention, but I made sure to give him a kind of distant response every once in a while so he didn't feel too bad.
"Clarissa!" the voice that said my name was all-too familiar, but my name coming out of that mouth was an occasion worthy of marking on your calendar.
I turned around, and none other than Isaac Paige was jogging to catch up to Tyler and me. I was so caught off-guard that all I could think to say was, "Why are you talking to me?"
His brows came together in the middle. "Someone's in a bad mood."
"No," I blurted before I really even thought about it. "I just really don't care for your company. Go on." My eyebrow crept its way up my forehead.
He took in a breath. "I was just going to ask what Birkenstock gave us for homework."
"Alright, give me the benefit of the doubt, here. I mean, I don't think that highly of you, but you must know that I don't believe you're stupid enough to not have checked the board like we've been doing for, what, eight months?"
He rolled his eyes, glancing at Tyler. "I don't want to do this in front of brace-face."
"Do what, get shot down? Because I can work that out."
"Clarissa, come on." He looked around. "Look, let me talk to you after class, okay? It'll be, like... five minutes."
I shook my head. "I don't have time for you." And I brushed past him, Tyler at my heels.
